


Words

by QueenBuzzle



Series: Insomnia Sweets [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Harry is actually called Jem, M/M, blood but not a lot of it, boyfrands, jem is kind of insensitive but sweet, maybe suicide triggers, medication yaaaay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBuzzle/pseuds/QueenBuzzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>{"You know Dean, words are...they're...it's just that they don't mean anything. You know? You say something and as soon as you're done saying it it's gone, swallowed up by the silence that follows."}</p><p>Dean introduces Jem to his brothers for the first time.</p><p>{"That's the funny thing about people, Jem," Dean murmured, brushing his hand through his hair. His eyes are swollen from his tears. "We've got memories that remember words, and if you can remember something, it must mean something."}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> Eh...I liked the idea for this one but not the actual execution...sorry 'bout that guys. I lacked inspiration for so long.

“So you have a girlfriend now?”

Dean glared into the rear-view mirror at Adam, who was looking like a proper Winchester. He was clad in leather and plaid, draped across the backseat of the Impala like he was God's gift to mankind. Dean remembered that age—seventeen was a good age for him. He'd been smaller and slimmer of course, and he hadn't really known a lot about the world, but he'd pretended well enough to get by. Sammy had only been thirteen and god but the kid had been much easier to deal with back then.

(And, of course, they hadn't even known about Adam. Adam hadn't known about John, either. He'd only been six.)

Thinking back to his call with Jem—the poor man had sounded terrified and it _thrilled_ Dean to know he meant enough to this almost-stranger that the man would be scared for him—his lips curled into a half-smile. “Not exactly.”

“Technicalities aside,” Sam countered, looking sideways at Dean. “That  _is_ what happened on the phone, right? I mean, she must have said yes because you jumped right in the car and almost left without us.”

Dean just shrugged. He wasn't exactly sure about Sam or Adam's views on the whole homosexuality thing—for all he knew of Adam the kid could be the biggest homophobe on the planet. Sam probably wouldn't care except to tease Dean about all of the gay jokes he'd said over the years with Sam at the butt of them. Still, he was a little nervous and he didn't want to test his luck.

To be honest, he was probably just going to blow it off till they got to Michigan, which might not be the best idea in the world.

“You  _did_ sound kinda whipped man,” Sam added quietly. Dean scowled and then his lips quirked up. 

“You two should be the ones who're whipped.”

“What do you mean?” Adam demanded, puffing up indignantly. “ _We_ should be at the whim of  _your_ girlfriend?”

(Dean squinted and thought maybe Jem could pass as a girl. He wondered if the boy would be insulted about being called a girl so many times...actually Jem in a dress was kinda hot. Maybe a maid's dress...)

“Well, the only reason you're out of the Pit is because of my quote-unquote 'girlfriend',” Dean snorted.

Sam and Adam went quiet, and Dean felt a little bad about bringing that up again. It'd only been about two weeks since they were out and he could still see the shadows of their wounds: yellowing bruises on cheekbones, pinking scars on lips and arms, the cast on Adam's hand. Sam still limped a little bit. Squeezing the steering wheel tightly, he tried not to think about nighttime.

It was always obvious they hadn't forgotten when they went to bed. He didn't think he'd ever get over waking them up from nightmares...

“Well...um,” Adam whispered, looking at his knees. His fingers played idly with his cast.

“I approve of this girlfriend then,” Sam said, voice trying to be light but it just came out dry.

“Good, 'cause it's not a girlfriend,” Dean drew in a deep breath. Let them get the teasing out of the way now, rather than later. “It's a boyfriend. And boy do I have a lot to tell you.”

 

Once they got over their shock—and Sam stopped laughing—Dean was able to give them a crash-course in “Good Wizards”. Sam consistently made gay jokes, his favorite of which seemed to be jokes about the word 'wand'. “I'm sure your favorite part is the  _wand,_ huh, Dean?” “Uh-huh, and what did he do with his wand later?” “Did he let you touch his wand?”

Still, it wasn't until Cas popped in that Sam really became interested in the information. Probably because he thought Dean was kidding around. The kid (he'd always be a kid to Dean) looked a bit shell-shocked, but Adam was taking it well.

“So there's a whole  _world_ of people we don't know anything about, can't see, who literally have magical powers and can erase our memories? How do we know they don't—like—control the government and run the world or something?”

Dean and Sam both snorted. Sam because it was absurd and Dean because he knew most Wizards didn't think humans were worth their time and effort.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately that theory is down the drain. They only care about us when we're being killed by dictators or when we've spawned a magical kid. Which is apparently possible. But don't worry, Jem's cool.”

“Your  _boyfriend_ is a good witch?” Sam gaped. “Dean, look, I'm totally on board with you screwing around with dudes. But...don't you think it's a little weird to...well...he could do anything and you wouldn't be able to remember it!”

“You highly underestimate Dean's natural instincts,” Cas piped in. He looked to be having a staring contest with Adam.

“Thank you, Cas. Besides, once you see Jem you'll laugh. He's crazy but in a good way.”

Actually he was a little scared about taking his brothers into Insomnia Sweets, to be honest. He wondered what their opinions would be—sure, it looks like a cutesy little bakery on the outside, but on the inside...

...well, like most things, the inside is far more vast and telling than the outside.

 

It was nighttime when they crossed the border from Ohio into Michigan. Cas had long since disappeared, off to do whatever it is Angels do at night, and Adam had filled his spot by slumping over, asleep. Like the rest of the Winchester family, it seemed he slept better in a moving vehicle than in a bed.

_Nature,_ Dean thought,  _or circumstance?_

Sam's head was resting on his hand, which was on the window. Music was filtering quietly through the radio, one of Dean's age-old cassette tapes. Probably Metallica, it was too quiet to hear the words. The stars shone brightly in this part of the country—and Dean ached to pull over and lay on the roof, just to look at them.

But he had promises to keep.

“Dean?”

Sam's voice sounded like he didn't really want Dean to hear him. Dean glanced up, blinking.

“Listen...I'm happy for you, man. I mean, I know I made fun of you...but...you seem to really like this guy. I'm, um, I'm glad.”

Dean smirked and nodded a little. “Thanks. That's actually good to hear.”

Sam smiled. “So are you thinking of quitting hunting?”

He looked at his little brother incredulously. “What? Hell no, I'd be lost without hunting. Besides, Jem likes to hear the stories anyways.”

“So you're not gonna settle down and adopt some kids or something?”

Dean laughed. “Nobody would give me a kid, Sam. I don't even have legal documents anymore. I'm dead, remember?”

At the reminder of their abysmal life, Sam looked a bit saddened. He nodded as if he'd expected as much. “Right. I just think you'd be a good dad.”

_Truth be told Dean would like to settle down and have a few kids. Maybe four, two boys and two girls. But if it was unlikely before, it would be impossible now. He and Jem just didn't have the necessary parts to reproduce, and nobody would be willing to give Dean a kid, no matter how much he cleaned up his act. Besides, people still frowned on homosexuality and even though Michigan was better than some states, it was no San Francisco or anything. Maybe in a few years things would be different..but even then..._

 

They were pulling into Mt. Searing as the sun came up. It was six in the morning and Dean had, once again, driven all night for Jem Whitmore. Adam and Sam both had gotten a little sleep and were wide awake to peer at the sleepy little town.

Someone had bought Crabbe Manor, it looked like: they were restoring the gates, and there were kids' toys in the yard where, a year ago, Auror Moore and several Crabbes had died. Dean shivered slightly at the thought of a child playing in the spot Moore had lay, looking away.

“I did a hunt there not long after you guys were...well. A lot of people died. It's how I met Jem,” Dean muttered, cocking his head toward the manor. “Russell—you know Russell, Sam—he called me to investigate because he kept losing his memory. In fact, everyone who knew anything about the murders kept forgetting, so it was difficult. But Jem helped us figure it out. Some Wizards are Dark, and there was a whole family of them right there.”

Sam and Adam turned to watch as they passed. Dean couldn't look at it anymore. He didn't like the way the sunrise shadows seemed to cling to the gates.

Maybe it was his imagination, but the town seemed a bit busier than it had the last time he was here. Dean eyed the oddly-dressed people parading about the streets. There wasn't a significant rise in population, just enough for him to notice, but it still felt _off._

“Dude,” Sam said, nudging Dean. “Keep your eye on the road instead of the whackos. We just completely blew through town!”

“I know,” Dean rolled his eyes. In the back, Adam muttered something sleepily, settling back in like he was expecting another long ride. “It's only a few minutes away. Listen, it's uh...it's a little weird. It doesn't look like someplace a Hunter would hang out. But just give it a chance, okay?”

“Sure,” Adam chirped, suddenly careening from his seat to the window of space between Sam's head and Dean's. “I'll try anything once!”

“Good.”

 

Jem's car wasn't in the parking lot. Dean knew there was a motel nearby and wondered if he should maybe come back at a later hour, but he shook his head and pulled in anyways.

Not much had changed from the last time Dean was here. Then again, it hadn't been a year this time. It'd only been four weeks, or six, maybe eight. The cherry blossom trees had been planted around with tulips, which seemed a moot point given it was nearing autumn again. It was indeed weeds that grew in the planters—dandelions, clovers, those purple ball-shaped flowers that Dean didn't know the name of. Someone had unhinged the sign advertising homemade ice cream and it was now leaned against the building, waiting to be taken away and replaced.

Though Dean had been away, Jem's world continued revolving. The _what-ifs_ hadn't stopped him.

He parked in the spot next to the one Jem usually did, patting the steering wheel a few times awkwardly.

However excited he'd been to introduce Jem to his brothers, now that he was here he felt that somehow they were inadequate. He didn't know who the _they_ were—him and Jem, Adam and Sam... and it didn't seem to matter either way. Something was inadequate and suddenly he didn't feel so good about this pending introduction.

“Are you _nervous_?” Sam gaped. “I've never seen you nervous before. God you must really like this guy! Are we meeting him here?”

Drawn out of his musings by the reminder that these were his little brothers—people who were _never_ supposed to see him hesitate—Dean steeled himself and opened the door.

“Sort of. C'mon.”

He marched them up to the door. Even though it was only half seven, he shoved open the door (which, as expected, had the little frowny-face sign: _Closed :(_ ). 

“Dean—!” Sam protested, voice a quiet hiss. “They're not open yet! I don't think we can be here!”

“Come on, you baby,” Dean rolled his eyes, strolling in.

His breath nearly rushed out of him when he saw Jem. The young man was arched onto his toes, messing with the buttons on the timer. He was in a three-quarters length maroon button up, pink apron tied around his waist. His hair was getting a bit overlong, curling under his ears.

When the door _bring_ ed, Jem half-turned, finishing his button-pushing. “Welcome to Insomnia Sweets! We don't actually start serving until—”

“—nine, I know,” Dean interrupted, smiling. Jem whipped around, surprise flooding his face. For the first time since he'd met the boy, there was no flour, no frosting, no cake batter on his cheeks or apron or in his hair. His hair was parted slightly different, and fell into his face when he turned.

Pushing it back irritably, Jem beamed. “Dean!”

The smaller man darted around the counter and collided with Dean, murmuring so quickly and lowly that Dean couldn't make out anything he was saying. Then, with a shuddering sigh, Jem pulled himself away from Dean, nose slightly pink, and shoved the trio towards a table.

“Go find somewhere to sit, I'll be right there.”

 

Jem joined them at the table only five minutes later, carrying a tray laden down with food, but Sam and Adam had already had time to hiss admonishments at him:

“ _That's_ your boyfriend?”

“He can't even be old enough to be your boyfriend!”

“Of _course_ your boyfriend works in a bakery.”

“Are you _sure_ he can handle being with a Hunter? Look how soft he is.”

Dean could only snort, because Jem definitely was not _soft._

 _Well,_ said his mind lecherously, _mostly not soft._

Then Jem sat down, smiling tiredly and pushing the tray into the middle of the table. Sam and Adam stopped short, not wanting to offend this stranger.

“You look well,” Jem said quietly, half-turning to look at Dean while pouring a pinkish drink into a glass. “Who are your friends?”

“You look tired,” Dean responded lightly, and Jem's lips quirked. He abruptly realized that Jem really _didn't_ know these were his brothers—that he didn't know Dean had even managed to save them. Suddenly he didn't know how to introduce them, how to bring these three important people together.

It turned out he didn't have to: Sam was already standing to offer his hand over the table, smiling that tight, confused smile of his. “Sam Winchester,” he said. “That's Adam Milligan. We're Dean's brothers.”

Jem's hand was engulfed by Sam's monster-sized one. Dean watched with amusement as Jem's eyes blew wide, mouth popping open.

“Oh!” the boy yelped. “Oh my gosh, that's awesome, it's so nice to me you. It's just that I didn't know you were—well, that Dean had managed to—but wow! You look so healthy for, um...well. Yes.”

Eloquent. But that was Jem, wasn't it?

“Sorry I didn't tell you,” Dean sighed after the introductions were over. He felt really badly about it. “Sam and Adam were in bad shape and there was so much to do for a while there.”

“You don't have to apologize to me, I'm not your mother,” Jem rolled his eyes and grinned.

“Thank god for that,” Dean snorted, raising his glass of pinkish stuff in a toast. Then he downed it, not sure what to expect. It was obviously strawberry, but it had that sort of dry undertone a lot of teas did. “Strawberry iced tea, interesting,” he told Jem.

“Insomnia Sweets summer special,” the boy nodded, looking up from where he had been laughing with Adam. “Speaking of summer specials—excuse me.”

The door was pushing open as Jem stood, allowing a young man inside. Dean half-stood, wondering if he should trail after Jem, but the man seemed to know the kid.

“Aidan!” Jem called, waving. Aidan turned, rubbing his eyes like he was tired. “Once you're all set up do you think you could switch out the summer signs with the autumn ones?”

“Can-do, Mr. Whit,” yawned Aidan. Then Jem was headed their way again, and Dean forced himself to relax and smile naturally.

When Jem didn't sit again, instead just leaning against the back of his chair, Dean connected the pieces. “Time to go to work?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” Jem shrugged, smiling gently. “Aidan—he comes in to help me—he's here now so I can really get to work. I'm off at six though, where are you guys staying?”

“Motel up the road,” Dean tilted his head in the vague direction of the motel. He didn't want to leave Jem so soon after meeting up with him again, but he knew that Jem couldn't just close down his shop.

“Mo—? Oh, no, that one's been closed for ages!” Jem shook his head.

“Really?” Sam frowned. “You know any others?”

“Well...there's one a town over. But Mt. Searing is really small, there's not any here. You could stay at my place though,” Jem offered, rocking back on his heels. “I've got plenty of room.”

Dean protested this for a bit and then gave in, so Jem fished out his keys and offered them over.

“Just make yourselves at home. Most of the bedrooms are empty, so go right ahead and settle in. Oh! Dean,” Jem turned to Dean as the other two were departing, looking a little flushed and uncertain. “You can—what I mean is that you could, you know...stay in my room? If you want?”

Jem just looked so sweet, offering up his bedroom to Dean with that blush on his cheeks. Dean swooped down and kissed him softly, much to Jem's surprise. Jem tilted his head back, arching up on his toes to keep their lips connected as Dean pulled away.

“You're too cute,” Dean teased, curling his arms around Jem. Sam appeared in the window and made a 'come on' motion. “I'll stay in your room if you want me to, but Samantha out there is ready to go. I'll pick you up at six?”

Jem nodded, leaning into the hug slightly. Dean was, again, the one who pulled away, but Jem looked rather content.

“See you later, Dean,” he murmured, smiling.

Dean just about died and went to heaven.

 

In the car, where he thought he'd be bombarded with questions, he got instead:

“So he really is your boyfriend.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Dean grunted, rolling his eyes and turning on the car. Perplexed by the silence, and feeling anxious for their approval for whatever reason, he asked searchingly: “So...?”

Adam popped up, putting his face between Dean's and Sam's. “I liked him,” he decided. “He seems nice.”

Sam nodded as well, humming his agreement. Then—“But what the hell was up with that shop? I mean, not trying to knock your boyfriend or anything but it looks like a mental patient decorated it.”

 _If only you knew,_ thought Dean, and then attempted to explain Jem's mind to them without Jem's words.

 

There were few words for Dean's thoughts when they pulled up in front of the house.

First he thought, _is this the right address?_ and it was. Then, he couldn't think any longer, floundering between _he makes enough money for a house like this?_ and _my boyfriend is rich._

It, of course, was nothing on the Crabbe Manor's sprawling building. Jem's house was small compared to that—three stories, a garage, a wrap-around porch. The grounds were well-kept and the flowerbeds were overflowing with lilies and tulips and roses. In the front there was a small pond and a gazebo perched, overlooking it. In the back there were trees—acres upon acres of trees.

Dean's hands shook as he let himself in, looking around. The entryway led into the large living-room, beyond which was a kitchen and a dining room, an office, a magnificent stairwell, a breakfast nook with a sliding door that led out the back. Up the stairs was a den full of books, a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom, and another open sitting area with some couches and another stairwell.

The last floor was bedrooms. Just bedrooms, and at the end of the hall a door of a different color, with a little rug outside of it. Dean instinctively knew this was Jem's room.

He bid Sam and Adam adieu with these parting words: “Don't break anything.”

 

And then Dean was left to himself.

He liked it that way, really: though most of his life had been spent with Sammy and his Dad, over a year hunting by himself had made being alone comforting, almost.

Shutting Jem's door behind him, Dean looked around giddily. He'd never done this before. Slept over in someone else's bed, someone who he _liked_ this way. He'd never ran his hand across their dresser, peered in their mirror wondering how they looked at themselves each morning, chosen not to snoop through their dresser because he _respected_ them enough not to.

But he did all of these things for Jem. Sometimes it scared him how he could know this man for such a short amount of time, but feel all of these crazy things. Maybe that's what soul mates were: that one person who you can feel so strongly about after such a short amount of time. And sure, you could be happy with other people, you _had_ been happy with other people, but once you meet this one person you'll never be happy without them again.

Dean didn't want to feel happy without Jem.

He wanted to know Jem's every flaw, map out his imperfections, be privy to his bad decisions, keep his secrets.

Kicking out of his shoes, Dean made for the other door. Through it was a bathroom and through that, a closet. He stripped as he went til he was in nothing but his boxers, his things discarded along the floor.

If houses were like minds, the bathroom is where the secrets were kept. On little shelves next to the mirror, medicine was lined up like soldiers, labels facing out. Innocent things like aspirin and Tums, outdated medication with names Dean couldn't pronounce ( _Zerifatol Nitrax,_ one read. Underneath the label in black marker was Jem's handwriting: _discontinued b/c makes nightmares worse 3/2001._ Another said _Helitaz Chlorytryl,_ and _discontinued b/c hallucinations 1/1999_ ), medication prescribed this year and even this month.

Dean straightened out the medications and used the bathroom. Washing his hands and his face, he wondered why Jem would keep the medication he'd stopped using.

Sometimes he wondered why Jem did anything he did.

Then he traipsed back into the bedroom, collecting his clothes and setting them on the dresser. He avoided looking at the bed, his heart beating in the way it does when you know something is inappropriate and you don't care.

He was going to sleep in Jem's bed.

Jem had told him to sleep in his bed.

Jem wanted Dean in his bed.

Finally he approached the bed, wondering if Jem had a 'side'. He crawled into the side closest to the door, relaxing into the plush monstrosity and allowing the scent of Jem to overcome him.

 

It was the best rest he'd had in a long, long time.

 

“Hey,” Dean chirped, brushing his hand over his damp hair. The young cashier, Aidan, jumped and glanced up at him. The boy couldn't be more than sixteen, his jeans falling casually about his hips, maroon button up opening to reveal a black t-shirt. He had that athletic figure, and Dean questioned why a boy like him would work in a bakery.

“Oh. Uh, hi,” Aidan looked around. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to pick up Jem. I don't think we've been introduced—I'm Dean. Jem's boyfriend.”

Aidan's eyebrows raised. “I'm Aidan. Nice to meet you, but, uh, on Saturdays Jem leaves early to go grocery shopping. He's been gone an hour already.”

He didn't mention the 'boyfriend' part. Dean almost wished he had because, for some reason, he wanted to flaunt this new 'thing'.

“Okay...where did he go, do you know? It's just that I told him I'd pick him up,” Dean murmured, half-turning to go back to his car. Adam and Sam were still lazing about Jem's house, and Dean had wanted to take Jem to grab something to eat before they went back.

Aidan shrugged. “Probably Greene's, down by the bridge. It's the closest one and he was walking.”

Dean remembered the place—the bridge was the quickest way to get into town from this side, and you couldn't miss the supermarket once you got off it. “Thanks, kid. Hey—do you need a ride?”

Aidan shook his head and shrugged simultaneously, pointing to the car that was approaching. “Got one. Thanks.”

Dean stayed in the parking-lot watching Aidan finish locking up, before leaving with his ride. Then, with a sigh, he pulled out as well, headed for Greene's Grocery.

It was twenty minutes later that he had to decide Jem wasn't in the store. Worry was mounting, tightening Dean's chest, and he called Sam.

“What's up?” his youngest brother answered on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath. Dean was already driving towards the house, eying the streets.

“Why are you—never mind. Is Jem home?”

_Please say yes._

“Nope. Nobody's here actually. Just me. Do you know where Sam went?”

“Probably just jogging, the freak,” Dean rolled his eyes. “I'll be there in a minute.”

He hung up.

 

Jem wasn't on the streets. Sam was, though, jogging, and Dean left him to it after asking him to keep an eye out for Jem.

Arriving at the house, Dean slammed the door and slipped his shoes off, grunting under his breath about worrisome boyfriends. The word, now that Sam had classified the relationship (wasn't it funny that _Sam_ was classifying it and not either of the actual participants), kept slipping through his mind. 'Boyfriend'. It was like an infection: bitten once with the word and now he would never be rid of it.

“Hey, Dean!” Adam chirped from his perch on the counter, eating raviolis straight from the can. Dean wrinkled his nose. “Still no sign of Jem?”

“Nope. I'm hoping he's just taken a different route home,” Dean muttered, leaning against the counter.

That's when the door slammed open.

 

The smell that rushed in with the breeze was so sulfurous that there was no questioning it. “Demon,” he told Adam, slipping his gun from his waistband. Adam grabbed the salt from the cupboard, hopping quietly from the counter.

He heard shuffling in the other room and nodded his head for Adam to bring up the rear, cocking his gun. As they rounded the corner, Dean's heart plummeted into his chest.

Of all of his worst fears, he hadn't even thought...no, he'd thought Jem maybe lost track of time, ran into a friend, walked to a different supermarket, was comparing the sugar content of two different jams. Mundane. Ordinary. Harmless.

But Jem hadn't made it to the supermarket. Dean could see that already: the flour-covered pink apron was still hung from the body's hips, the cake-battered hair still stuck up, crusty, from Jem running his fingers through it.

It wasn't Jem, though. Dean didn't know what it was, who it was, but the eyes were black, the way the body held itself was so _not Jem_ that it was scary. Head cocked a little differently, lips tilted just a bit off, shoulders too rigid, legs too far apart. Whoever was inside of Jem did not know him, didn't know the little intricacies of his every day movements.

This was not a planned possession. Dean was willing to be whoever was in there had piggybacked Jem to get to the Winchesters.

Wasn't that always it?

Still, he was so shocked, so scared, that his hand trembled. He gasped, “Jem.” The demon smirked, a knife Dean recognized from the bakery held gently in its grip.

So that _wasn't_ just food coloring on the apron, then.

Dean had never been this torn before. On one hand he wanted to rip that demon to shreds—on the other hand, until Sam showed up, he knew it wasn't possible without killing Jem as well.

 _Why hadn't he ever learned the exorcism?_ He would curse that for the rest of his life if something untoward happened to Jem.

“Dean Winchester and Baby Winchester,” tutted the demon. Even the voice was a little off, still Jem's but with the addition of _something else._

Adam had come round the corner, and was mouthing confusedly. He hadn't been around Jem long enough, thought that this demon had been there the whole time. “What do I...?”

“Hmm...this body was just too easy...” the demon continued. As if it knew that Dean wouldn't hurt the 'body', it turned away, peering about the house with feigned curiosity. “As soon as I got wind of this one, I knew I had to take it over. See, it's not often when a non-hunter opens his arms to hunters! You know you're not the only one that frequents his little _bakery._ Mm-mm. The opportunity of a lifetime, this. Not only the Winchesters but plenty other hunters, all coming trustingly into that peculiar little shop of his! Oh yes. And he was so easy.”

“You shut your mouth,” Dean demanded, lowering his gun finally. He couldn't pull the trigger anyways. The demon turned back to face Dean, confused.

“I expected a different _welcoming,_ Dean Winchester,” the demon's eyes went blank for a moment, and then the confusion cleared up. A tiny smirk played at Jem's lips—a smirk that otherwise would have sent pleasant shivers up and down Dean's spine. “Ohhh, I see. You _like_ this one.”

The knife came up.

“Shame I've already done some modifying. You know it's always easier to _convince_ the bodies to do something when they've already thought about doing it before. Oh yes. Watch.”

The body suddenly shuddered and it was _Jem_ again. Jem careened forward, mouthing confusedly, and then stiffened. “But I...” he murmured, staring at Dean blankly. Dean realized, with horror, that Jem didn't seem to see him. The knife came up.

It plunged into the skin of Jem's thigh, and Jem barely flinched. Dean jerked forward but suddenly the demon was back in control, yanking the knife up to his Jem's neck.

“Oh no, Dean, I wouldn't do that. You know, poor Jem was so tired. It was like possessing a dead man. He's hopped up on so many drugs, drugs to do things I bet you didn't even know he needed. Mmm. Anti-depressants. Sleeping medication. Schizophrenia. OCD. Medication to make his brain work how it should, but it's not working, not really.” for a moment, the demon looked puzzled, like it actually cared. It struggled for a moment, turning its head. “How is he...?”

The black eyes flickered and Jem came back to the forefront, hands tightening around the knife. “Dean?” Jem asked weakly, blinking down at his thigh. The poor boy's voice was so tiny Dean's heart broke. He stepped forward again, and Jem went slack, carving away at himself with the knife.

“Jem, stop it!” Dean shouted, pointing at Adam to bring him the salt. He tried to pry the knife from Jem, but only made the knife go deeper. “Jem, you can fight it, you just did, oh god.”

The eyes flicked black for a moment. “Let him go you bastard!” Dean screamed, the blade of Jem's knife slipping against his hand and cutting him as well.

The eyes went completely black.

Dean went for the knife too slowly, and it was plunged into Jem's stomach.

“Oh yes. You know, Dean, he can't even feel this. Don't worry so much,” the demon teased, a little strained from the knife in his stomach. “I understand that he's on the verge of discontinuing one of his new medications because it makes his whole body numb. Bit worrying, I'd have discontinued it immediately, but poor Jem is just aching for a cure to his problems. He wants to be _all_ better.”

The demon wasn't moving at all now, just watching Dean with that little smirk on its lips. It thought it had won, Jem was dying and there wasn't anything for Dean to do except flounder. He wondered if he should remove the knife from Jem's stomach or if that would make things worse, hands fluttering over his boyfriend's body as his eyes finally released their burden.

Tears.

He was crying.

He'd never cried on a hunt before. He'd never cried over anyone other than Sammy and Adam.

He didn't want to lose Jem, not now that he actually had a chance with him. The thought of never seeing the small man again, never seeing Jem as _himself,_ broke something inside Dean.

“Please Jem,” he whispered, grasping the knife. The demon watched him with a grin, enjoying this little entertainment. When the knife was discarded across the room, Dean tried to staunch the blood flow. “Please, please fight it. Please. Oh god I can't do this without you. I don't—I don't know how, Jem, please, fight this demon off.”

“He can't _hear_ you, Dean,” snapped the demon, sitting up a bit straighter. It looked angry. “Don't you get it? He can't hear anything because he's dead. It's just me in here, and now I'm going to kill you.”

Jem's little body jerked up off the floor, lunging at Dean. Dean cried out and shoved, trying to be gentle. It was still _Jem_. He refused to believe the demon was right.

“Please hear me, Jem! I can't do this without you. I-I can't—” here he choked against the demon's hands. “—even the firs time I met you I thought, I thought that you were finally the person for me. I thought, I thought I could love you. I've never told anyone that, you know? Not like how I mean it now. I n-need you Jem. I don't think I'd know how to go on without you, please, help me.”

His voice, which had always been so _passionate,_ so goofy, was a monotone. Adam was behind Jem, trying to stop the demon from strangling Dean without hurting the body that was already oh-so-damaged.

Then suddenly Dean was shouting, yelling: “Dammit Jem! You're always thinking in _what-ifs._ What if the Earth could never have sustained life? What if heroes weren't really heroes? What if you died and I couldn't go on? What if you dying meant I'd never be happy ever again? What if you're the one person I'm meant to be with for the rest of my life and what if I love you?”

The hands moved from his neck. Dean thought, _this is it._ Killed by his demon-possessed boyfriend. Then, instead of going for the knife or ripping his heart out, the hands clenched in his shirt. Jem's body writhed against Dean's, and Jem groaned painfully.

“D-Dean.”

“Fuck, Jem,” Dean muttered, eyes fluttering closed in relief.

Jem whimpered, tossing his head back. “It hurts. Oooh, god, there's too much presence.”

_There's too much...what?_

“Fff. There's too many people in my brain, Dean!”

As always, Jem astounded Dean, who gave a startled laugh. Adam was looking bewildered.

“Should I be...?” he motioned to Jem with one hand and the salt with the other.

“It's not funny, Dean!” Jem yelled, rolling clear off of Dean and continuing to roll away. With a weak shout, the boy arched up off the floor, forcefully vomiting black smoke.

Sam came through the door in time to see Jem pass out.

 

Castiel came on the first call, healed Jem, and disappeared as if he'd never been there. Sam, feeling ashamed and a bit sweaty, volunteered for clean-up. Adam helped Dean get Jem up the stairs.

Even though Jem almost died, the situation didn't (and hadn't) felt dire. There was no adrenaline rush, no relief of it being over. It was as if there had been a lapse in Jem's medicine and he'd been hallucinating, nothing bad.

Dean, however, trembled as he stripped Jem to his underwear to wash him up. The tears were still wet on his cheeks.

He'd never told anyone he loved them, and the first time he had done so, that someone wasn't even around to understand it.

Jem came to around the time that Dean let the water out of the tub, murmuring sleepily. He shook his head as if to clear it, rubbing at his eyes.

“'M wet,” he mumbled, blinking himself awake and looking up at Dean confusedly, then down to the tub, which was steadily refilling. “What...?”

“Hey,” Dean whispered, brushing away his tears. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Jem responded, frowning. “What happened?”

Dean nodded. He'd figured Jem would be foggy—the first time you got possessed was the hardest. Hopefully it would be the last for Jem.

“You were possessed by a demon,” Dean stated bluntly, watching the smaller boy relax into the tub, practically purring.

“I was?” Jem hummed, giving a jaw-cracking yawn. “Weird. What happened then?”

Dean wished Jem would take it seriously. “The demon made you stab yourself a lot of times. You fought back and managed to shove it out. Castiel came and healed you up, then I brought you up here to clean you up.”

Jem smiled softly. “You're too good to me, Dean.” He rolled onto his side, like he was getting ready to take a cat nap in the steamy water. He raked his eyes over Dean, and it was with a sense of satisfaction that Dean realized the situation was finally sinking in. Jem gaped, sitting up and taking Dean in.

He was bloody, his neck was bruised, and (and this would have been amusing if the situation were different) he was covered in flour from Jem's apron.

“I get the feeling you're not telling me everything,” Jem muttered dryly, reaching out to touch Dean's neck. “Did I do that?”

“The demon made you,” Dean whispered. He swallowed thickly when Jem looked unamused.

“If I fought it off, it can't have been very easy for it to make me...for it to make me try to kill you,” Jem said, face paling. “Gods, Dean. I'm so sorry.”

It was ridiculous. Jem sat before him, naked but for his cute undies in the bathwater, dripping wet where he wasn't submerged, eying Dean with such sincerity and yet—Dean felt like crying again. He wasn't a crier naturally, and there wasn't anything to cry about really, but he felt the need all the same.

“It wasn't like that,” he assured huskily, unshed tears making his voice thick. “I...I don't think you could have fought it off if I hadn't gotten through to you.”

“How did you _get_ through to me?” Jem asked, head dropping.

Dean shivered and felt a little nauseous at the thought of what had gone on—the stench of sulfur, the warm oozing of blood seeping through his clothing, the frantic need to express his feelings. “I told you I loved you.”

Jem jolted so hard the water splashed over the side of the tub. Dean reached over and turned it off, and the sudden quiet that filled the room was such that he almost turned it back on again.

Then, “ _Do_ you?”

Dean glanced up at Jem's huge green eyes. He was indignant. “Of course I do! I think I probably loved you from the moment I set eyes on you! It's just that—it's just that I'd never said it before, not to anybody and not to you especially, and you don't even remember me doing it. It was supposed to be such a huge, amazing event, the first time you say those words, but it wasn't, and I don't have a redo.”

Jem lurched out of the tub, wrapping his arms tightly around Dean. Dean half-fell into the tub, being soaked through in the process, but he didn't care because Jem was still holding onto him and quivering like a leaf, thinking so hard a little line appeared between his eyes. Dean smoothed it over with his thumb.

"You know Dean, words are...they're...it's just that they don't mean anything. You know? You say something and as soon as you're done saying it it's gone, swallowed up by the silence that follows." Jem whispered, tilting his head back to look up at Dean. Caught in the boy's eyes, Dean felt both entirely relieved and heart-broken.

"That's the funny thing about people, Jem," Dean murmured, brushing his hand through his hair. His eyes are swollen from his tears. "We've got memories that remember words, and if you can remember something, it must mean something."

Jem went quiet again, shivering roughly. After a moment, he released Dean, standing in the tub. Dean's heart sank for the second time that day as his boyfriend—or, were they still..?—went about getting dry, wrapping himself up in a fluffy white towel. Dean followed Jem into the bedroom, where his dirty clothes were still sat on the dresser.

Jem had pulled out fresh clothes for himself before he spoke again, half-turned and still wrapped in his white towel.

“For what it's worth,” he said, so gently Dean almost didn't hear it. “I _love_ you, Dean. I don't know if I'm supposed to, not this quickly, but I don't care about propriety. I know what love feels like, and this is it.”

And they were words: just three words, spoken in a kind of broken voice, and the silence swallowed them and they were gone.

But Dean would remember them, maybe to give them meaning or maybe because they already meant something. They were only words. But they were important words.

 


End file.
